by D. R. Perry
“What does King DeCampo want with me tonight, anyway?”
“Oh, nothing much.”
“If it’s nothing, you can tell me, right?”
“Very well.” Stephanie puts one hand on the lever to open the passenger side door. “It’s your Testing Trial.” She gets out before I can say anything else.
Well, this is less than great. The penalty for failure is death, and I haven’t even studied.
Chapter Eighteen
A nice Italian boy walks into a vampire club… Sounds like the start of a pretty bad joke, right? But it’s my life, and it’s now or never. Tonight determines whether I get the chance to live forever. Yeah, I rhyme. I’m a poet and don’t even know it. So sue me.
Hargrove lets Stephanie and me in. We don’t go to the big throne room where the Moots happen, either. I can hear the usual suspects in there, though. Peering through the doorway as I walk past, I spy Maya. She drops a wink while giving me a thumbs-up. Whitby turns his nose up at me. The rest of his crew stare like stone statues, except for Roger the trench coat guy. One corner of his mouth twitches, and he wrings his hands. Raven raises an eyebrow, then marks something down in their little black attaché book.
At the end of the hall is a door I never knew existed. It’s got the fanciest compass rose I’ve ever seen on it, so it’s obvious what this place is for. Hargrove holds the door open, and I enter Testing Trial Central alone. Almost thirty years as a Catholic aren’t enough to prepare me for the dire air of ceremony this room holds.
It’s a circle with two alcoves. The floor is marble, polished to a high-gloss finish, and inlaid with a compass rose that’s somehow more ornate than the one on the door. I’m standing in one of the alcoves, just two steps away from the letter S. Each letter representing the cardinal directions is inlaid with a different gemstone. North is onyx, South is garnet, East is lapis lazuli, and West is moonstone. A faint sparkle hangs in the air above each of them, like magic, but not Esther’s kind.
In the alcove directly across from me stands King DeCampo, for once out of his throne and standing in full light. I only just manage to keep my jaw from dropping because I’ve never seen him before. His Majesty is a striking figure.
He’s maybe a hair taller than Stephanie, but other than that they’re different as day and night. The king’s skin is ebony, and his hair hangs in long rows of braids, bound at the ends with silver beads that match the pointed jewelry on the tips of his fingers. His nose is wide, but has a distinctive point that reminds me of paintings on Etruscan pottery. I realize that he’s not old like I thought. King DeCampo is downright ancient.
I feel like a gnat facing down a giant.
“Valentino Crispo, youngest in my territory, I call you to Trial this evening.” A tingle descends on me along with the sound of his voice, as though he’s invoked the tradition of ages down on my little head. Which, to be fair, he absolutely has.
His voice booms, even though I know he didn’t raise it. This room has the best acoustics I’ve ever heard. So good, they just have to be enchanted. I want to know how and would have looked at the ceiling, but I don’t dare offend the king. I bow my head instead in deference to his age and power.
And that’s when I notice the ashes. Ominous little heaps line the edge of the circular room as though the people they used to be were found wanting and then swept neatly aside with a grudging sort of care. And I’m at risk of joining them.
Others have failed at the Testing Trial over the years. They tried to go big and never went home. The evening’s earlier moments with my parents might be the last. I try to swallow past the lump forming in my throat, then realize it’s not physiologically there.
All of these physical human affectations are psychological, happening only inside my head. But like the wise man said, the stuff in your head can still be real. I need to set these human vestiges aside if I want to think like a vampire and walk out of here.
I close my eyes, trying to remember all four points from my notes and how I mean to deliver them. At least I get to start with one I know. South is easy, right? And North is practically a gimme with the king standing right next to it. Maybe he wants me to ace this.
“Your Majesty, I am prepared.” My voice takes on that same booming quality, and an itchier sort of tingle follows it. Oh, yeah, there’s magic in this here room, the kind that feels like it’s going to screw me over big-time if I don’t stick to the words I say in it.
“Then begin. Make your vows to honor our rules.” The king looks on, unblinking.
I step forward, placing my feet at the bottom curve of the S. There are two spots inlaid with pink marble for me to put my feet on and everything. I close my eyes, trying to visualize my composition book. Instead of just how it looks, my memory brings everything about it back. Its weight, the dry feel of its paper, the scent of black ink filling my nose when I fall asleep with it against my face.
And at that moment, I realize I know more than I think I do. And I think of exactly what to say for the southern point on this compass of rules.
“Your Majesty, I have a previous vow to protect innocent humans, and I have no intention of breaking it. However, I believe my old obligation to be in accord with this new one. So, I vow to honor the South by keeping our existence secret from humans in order to protect and serve both them and you.” I feel a twinge of magic, warm like the bygone taste of cinnamon.
“Proceed.” The king inclines his head at the white W. He didn’t really need to since there’s a trail inlaid in the floor for me to follow.
I pace along a pink marble trail outside the circle around the compass rose until I reach the next direction. And here’s my moment of truth. The two directions I always get mixed up are East and West. As my feet come to rest on the spots below the W, I take a deep breath and let it out. If I’m wrong, I’m dead, but the same goes for if I stay silent.
“And here is another new vow that works alongside my old one, your Majesty. In my admittedly limited experience, becoming a vampire hurts. I promise not to turn any human unless I am under direct orders to do so from my king.” I close my eyes, praying I got this one right. When the magic comes, it almost tickles, and it sounds like folding fresh linens.
“Continue.”
I open my eyes but missed where DeCampo wants me to go next. Luckily, the pink marble path guides my way, and I follow where it leads. The blue E at the eastern point of the compass. And I’ve got it cold now; I know I’m going to remember them all.
“No society can exist without trade, Your Majesty. I vow as a member of the vampire community to honor each of my debts and obligations to its other members. But I’m taking on an additional responsibility. I will also honor my debts to others in the supernatural community, provided that they act with honor toward vampires and humans.” This magic smells like a salt breeze fresh off the ocean.
“Interesting. And appropriate.” King DeCampo nods. “Complete your Trial.”
The path can only lead to one place—directly in front of the oldest and scariest vampire I know of. The marks for my feet on the floor put me on the opposite side of the letter N from him, turned so that we face each other. The foot of height I have on the king makes no difference. Even an uninformed bystander would know immediately which of us was the more powerful and who commanded true respect.
“Your Majesty is the most powerful being I have ever encountered. I vow to honor you for your age and experience, and promise to give my best effort on any task you assign me.” I try to stop them, but the words flow from my mouth anyway. “Unless the other vows are violated. This I swear.” That last word of mine resonates in the room’s acoustic perfection. The magic now is the feel of your fingers in the first deep snow of winter.
The silence hangs between King DeCampo and me. I got all of the points right and made my vows. So why isn’t he saying anything? What’s stopping him from granting me full status as his citizen? I stand, looking at a spot on the bridge of his nose because I can’t bear
the weight of his gaze. But I realize I have to. It’s part of the Trial, and if I don’t look the king in the eye, I will fail. We lock gazes.
He blinks. Irises like midnight pools change to a glowing red.
“I see.”
For an unmeasurable space of time, I feel like a bug pinned under a microscope, scrutinized. And then I'm surrounded by flickering light and heat. Fire. I get the feeling those flames are waiting, watching to see how I'm judged. I want to squirm and wish to flee, but I’m held there, paralyzed like Kayleigh’s legs were after I broke her back. Guilt over that action presses down on me, threatening to grind me into dust and ash. Maybe it’s karma. I drop to my knees.
Or maybe the king’s gaze and all this fire are part of the test. I made protecting regular people part of every vow I swore in this room, and I’d hurt Kayleigh this same evening. It didn’t matter that I’d healed her minutes later. The fact of the injury was enough, along with any unknown consequences the healing method might have. I close my eyes and bow my head, waiting to feel DeCampo’s claws sever my head from my body or the flames to burn me up. But the light and heat vanish, and the king speaks.
“Rise, Valentino Crispo, a full-fledged vampire.”
I do as I’m told because that’s what I promised. He could tell me to hop on one leg and bark like a dog right there on the compass, and I’d obey.
“The weight of your guilt over past actions is balanced by your refusal to let even me break the other vows. Now, be burdened by the lighter but no less significant heft of responsibility.”
King DeCampo reaches up, holding out a blood-red stone on a chain. His eyes return to their original color. I recognize this or something like it. Stephanie wore one the night after she turned me when I got presented to the king for the first time. I forget what it’s called. Something amulet. But I reach out to take it anyway. Its inner light glows like the fire, but it's cold to the touch.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Your Lazakhar amulet binds to your person and will only be visible on the most formal of official occasions, but you must wear it always or risk being considered as you were before your Trial. Never lose it.”
“I understand, Your Majesty.”
“Good.” He holds out one hand to indicate the door I came in by. “Spend the rest of your evening as all others to come, in accordance with our laws and your will. Be well, Valentino Crispo.”
I bow my head to him because it seems weird not to, and then I get out of there and hope I never have to go through this again. The Testing Trial room is a hinky place, and I’d prefer not to see the inside of one for a handful of centuries. Maybe more. The second I’m out in the hall, I hear a voice.
“Hullo, Tino.”
“Stephanie! I did it.”
“I knew you would.” She’s grinning. “Now come and mingle. Everyone will want a moment of your time this evening.”
And they do. And for once, it doesn’t suck.
Body Count
Supernatural Vigilante Book Two
Something’s fishy in the state of Rhode Island.
Tino Crispo’s investigating something big and nasty in Rhode Island. Trouble is, nobody’s talking, even with murder and abduction connected to rival magical families.
Tino was just sinking his fangs into unlife as a vampire and a PI, when Stephanie, his old and powerful vampiric sire, gets body-snatched.
With his usual crew sidelined, Tino’s help comes from unconventional sources. An old enemy, a psychic ‘tween and her pet, and a scapegoat are the Ocean State's only hope to beat back the horror lurking beneath the bay.
Can they stop the body count from rising, or will they go out with the tide?
Chapter One
“Get him!” I raise my voice for the first time tonight because there’s no way any of us will catch the bastard if I don’t. Unfortunately, that means the prey Scott, Esther, and I are stalking gets spooked.
“Aroooo!” Scott can’t use his words right now because he’s a six-foot-tall furry monster with giant clawed paws. He swings and misses. Yeah, my big scary pal is a teenage werewolf.
“Waffle-twat!” Esther’s right leg goes out from under her in a shower of green sparks. She’s a magician with no four-letter word filter. And apparently a klutz.
“Fine.” I burn blood to turn on some speed.
Right now, you’re wondering, “burn blood? Is he a pyromaniac? What the hell does he mean by that? Who is this guy, anyway?”
I’m Valentino Crispo, PI. And I also happen to be the newest vampire in Rhode Island. So yeah, I’m using blood to boost my speed because that’s one of the things we can do with it, and it’s one of two vampiric abilities I actually have the hang of. I’m using my powers to finish my case. You got a problem with that? That’s what I thought. Keep reading.
Dashing past Esther and Scott is the easy part. Pouncing on the bastard isn’t hard either, but getting a grip, man, that is damn near impossible. He’s one slippery customer.
That shouldn’t have surprised me. I knew what we were getting into when we took the job. I’m speedy enough to get around and corner him, so that’s what I do. He looks up at me, blinks, and starts climbing up the smooth sealed cement wall. I see my chance and take it.
Whipping off one of my gloves, I scoop the little guy up in it. "What?" you might be wondering. Or maybe, "How is that even possible?"
Said guy is a missing pet. A salamander, to be specific., and I’m holding him captive in an article of clothing that I wear to keep people from noticing that I don’t show up in mirrors. This victory wouldn’t have been possible if I were still human because nobody wears gloves in Rhode Island during the month of June.
“Case closed.”
“Nah.” Scott’s adjusting his clothes. The stuff he usually wears is stretchy so it doesn’t shred, but it gets all out of whack when he wolfs it up. I hand the glove with the amphibian inside to him.
“Can’t a fucking lady get a goddamned hand over here?” Esther’s sitting on the floor, pounding on her right leg with her left hand.
I oblige by reaching down. She hauls herself off the flagstones. I notice that her right leg’s pretty stiff around the knee. Looking her in the eye isn’t easy, but I do it anyway. She turns her glance away, face reddening. But I smell it. Shrapnel. It’s under her skin somewhere, though not in the leg she’s favoring.
“When did you serve?” Yeah, I have a bad habit of pissing powerful people off.
“Fucking-a. I don’t want to talk about it.” She practically pushes my hand away, tossing her head so her jet-black hair obscures her face.
“Okay.” It was a pretty personal question. “Shouldn’t have asked.”
“Don’t do it again, Tino, or I’m cutting the hell out of every goddamned fucking thing you’ve got going on.”
“I said okay, Esther.” Usually, I’d smile at someone while backing down. Not Esther and not after my foot’s crammed that far down my throat.
I know it seems weird for a vamp like me, even though I’m new, to make nice to what’s essentially a human with magical mixology powers while she’s cussing me out. But like I said before, Esther’s four-letter-focused vocabulary is normal for her. She even does it when she’s in a good mood. I think it stops her from accidentally casting spells or whatever, so I don’t mind that.
“Um.” Scott’s holding the glove up. “I think we all want to give the lizard back and get paid.”
“Kid has a fucking point.” Esther rolls her eyes. "But it's a salamander, shit-for-brains."
“Okay, then.” I hook one thumb over my shoulder in what I think is the direction we parked. “To the, um, wolfmobile?”
We head out of the tunnel next to WaterPlace Park in downtown Providence. It’s been full dark for maybe three hours, which means it’s eleven o’clock because it’s June. This is one of the sucky parts of being a vampire. The nights are pretty short over the summer. But right now, it only motivates me to get stuff done faster.<
br />
I’m wrong about where the car is. I forget other things sometimes, too. But that’s why I have a team and try to write everything down. Scott easily finds the big old rust bucket of a truck his dad lets him drive. The werewolf schnoz is a thing. They can track faster than just about any other creature on the planet.
“Fucking shotgun.” Esther means that she's called dibs on the window seat, not that she spotted somebody getting frisky with a double-barrel. The truck’s a regular cab with a bench seat, not extended. She pulls open the primer-spotted door, rolling her eyes at the imitation wood panel painted on the side.
“Joy.” I climb into the truck and put the lap belt on. What? I’m a vampire, not Superman. Besides, if we get pulled over, I don’t want Scott to get a ticket for driving without everyone buckled in.
Esther gets in and pulls the door closed behind her. Scott hands me the glove with the salamander in it and hops into the driver’s seat. They both buckle up, too. He turns the key in the ignition and then puts it in gear.
“Hold your fucking horses.” Esther holds her hand out at me then glances at the flimsy glove.
“What?”
“Little guy can’t wear a belt, but he’s dead if we get in a wreck.” Scott shrugs. “I guess she wants to make something better for him.”
“Fucking a.” Esther brandishes a permanent marker.
“You owe me a new pair of gloves.” I hand it over.
Esther mumbles something about buying stock in a glove-making company while marking her alchemical symbols on my garment. The green glittery aura that always goes along with that magic surrounds her hands, the marker, and then the glove. When she hands it back, it feels like metal mesh instead of fabric and doesn’t change shape in my hand. I can hear the salamander moving inside and peek through the small hole in the top. It eyes me back.